<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>training wheels by ShowMeAHero</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008267">training wheels</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero'>ShowMeAHero</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>as the ghost begins to bleed [29]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff, Growth, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Parenthood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:08:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’re these?” Richie asks. He has to drag Riley with him to get to the pamphlets.</p><p>“I thought it might be a good idea for Riley to start learning life skills,” Eddie says. “Be more independent.”</p><p>“What?” Riley asks.</p><p>“He wants you to get ready to move out, short stack,” Richie tells her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>as the ghost begins to bleed [29]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>293</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>training wheels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>necro verse reddie and their three little girls are the only thing that matters as of right now</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Once Riley’s turned two years old, Eddie decides he needs to start preparing her for the world. He goes out for errands one day with Audrey and Nora, but he comes back with a small paper bag full of different pamphlets that he lays out on the kitchen table before turning fully to Richie. He’s enjoying the freedom of his leg finally being out of the cast, so he’s purposefully been choosing to make dinners for his family that involve him standing at the stove to stir or sauté or fry. Riley clings to his shin, chewing on a frozen apple slice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re these?” Richie asks. He has to drag Riley with him to get to the pamphlets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought it might be a good idea for Riley to start learning life skills,” Eddie says. “Be more independent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Riley asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants you to get ready to move out, short stack,” Richie tells her. She frowns up at Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she says. She points towards the stove. “Dinner goes first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, dinner goes first,” Eddie agrees. Riley grins up at him, and Eddie crouches to scoop her up onto his hip. She buries her face in his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think she has a couple more teeth coming in in the back,” Richie tells him. “She’s been trying to poke at them all day. Google says they’re her second molars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost all the way done,” Eddie tells her. Riley finishes the frozen apple slice in her hand, and Richie grabs another one from the dish he’s keeping in the freezer before she has time to let her gums start hurting again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are the other two?” Richie asks, taking one of the apple slices for himself. He snaps it in half and slips the slightly-larger half into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie smiles at him before crunching it in half between his own teeth. Richie stoops down to kiss him lightly before he turns back to the stove. “Leave ‘em at the store?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Eddie says. He leans against the counter, shifting Riley’s weight on his hip so he can push her hair back out of her eyes. “I just left them in a cart in the freezer section. They’ll probably keep there, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Daddy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Riley admonishes. She starts to wriggle to try and get out of Eddie’s grip, but he just tightens his hold as Richie laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not that senile yet, babycakes,” Richie says. He kisses the top of Riley’s head before ruffling her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They both fell asleep on the ride home, they’re in their car seats in the living room,” Eddie tells him. Richie nods, finally turning down to flip through the pamphlets Eddie threw down. There’s toddler gymnastics, little explorers, Daisies, Cubs, baby music classes, art classes, toddler softball, future astronauts, baby book club, play lab. Richie picks up the pamphlet for toddler softball and flips it open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think she’s ready for something like this?” Richie asks. Riley drops her head onto Eddie’s shoulder as Richie turns the pamphlet around, pointing at a picture of a toddler in an oversized softball helmet. “Not gonna lie, though, that’s fucking adorable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re all geared specifically towards her age group,” Eddie tells him. He flips open the toddler gymnastics pamphlet and points to a section titled </span>
  <em>
    <span>24—36 Months. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“She’s almost two and a half. She should start socializing with other kids, learning things we can’t teach her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says I can’t teach her how to be an astronaut?” Richie demands, teasing, taking Riley back out of Eddie’s arms. His heart is pounding, as he rubs his hand over her back. She fusses a little, frustrated at being taken from Eddie, but she settles easy enough with her head on Richie’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie,” Eddie says, a little too seriously. Richie turns back to the stove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll look through the pamphlets, I promise,” Richie tells him, and he will. He just— He needs a second. He needs just, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>two seconds </span>
  </em>
  <span>to take a breath and acclimate to the idea that Riley’s whole world has to change from being primarily just the five of them to the literal whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>world, and he can’t protect her out there. There’s so much fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>out there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rich?” Eddie asks hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, is this how you feel all the time?” Richie asks. Eddie takes Riley back out of his arms as Richie grips the edge of the kitchen counter and presses his forehead into the cool edge of it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Eddie asks. He rubs Richie’s back in a long, slow circle. “What happened? Are you feeling dizzy? Because if you are, you probably shouldn’t be st—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m fine,” Richie says. He inhales deeply, then stands up straight, shaking out his limbs again. “Just— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m kinda freaked out by just— Her being out there without us, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley pulls at Eddie’s shirt, unbuttoning the top button as her parents stare at each other. After a moment, Richie feels the back of his nose start to prickle. He sniffles, looking down at Eddie’s shoes. They’re shinier than Richie’s ever able to make his own, and these are the shoes Eddie runs </span>
  <em>
    <span>errands </span>
  </em>
  <span>in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>not falling to pieces over Riley doing something perfectly normal like going to a fucking class for toddlers. She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>two, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not twenty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Eddie says quietly. He sets Riley down on the kitchen floor in her sock feet before taking one of Richie’s hands and pulling him in. Richie keeps staring down until Eddie physically tips his head up with a grip on his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Richie tells him. “What if we just, like— Let’s all just live together forever, right? Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Full House. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then, when they grow up, we’ll do a sequel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuller House </span>
  </em>
  <span>where our grandkids live with us, too, and then—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie, sweetheart, calm down, it’s okay,” Eddie says. Richie inhales deeply, then drops his forehead to Eddie’s shoulder and exhales, long and slow. “There you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want anything to happen to her,” Richie tells him. Eddie’s hands come up to pull him in closer before they wrap around him. Eddie holds him tight, rubbing his back softly. Richie buries his face in Eddie’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s going to happen that we can’t deal with,” Eddie says. “I know you don’t like to think about it but, Richie, I’ve been dead before. And you brought me back. There’s nothing that can happen to her that we can’t fix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if someone hurts her feelings?” Richie asks. “I can— I can put a bandaid on her, or I can— I can make sure she eats right, and I can brush her teeth, but I can’t stop some kid from being mean to her. Or stop her from— from someone hurting her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone like him?” Eddie asks. Neither of them says his name, but it hovers between them anyways. “You mean— Do you mean like It?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It happened to us,” Richie murmurs. Eddie tips his head up to kiss Richie on the cheek before pulling back, cupping his face between his hands. He swipes the pad of one thumb under Richie’s eye, beneath his glasses, catching the tears gathered there that hadn’t spilled over yet. Richie sniffles again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think about it a lot, too,” Eddie admits. “You’re right. When you were— I mean, you were joking, and I don’t feel like this </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time, but— The shit with my mom, I—” Eddie stops, takes a breath, then starts over. “After my mom trapped me with her for so long and wanted to control me for so long, I think I’m— I’m going too hard the other way. I don’t want to shove them out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want them to leave at all,” Richie confesses. Eddie squishes his face a little bit before releasing him, and Richie exhales, turning away to grab a paper towel from the roll on their counter and scrub at his face with it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Shit. Well— At least we balance each other out, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” Eddie replies. “At first, I was grabbing pamphlets that would give her a schedule. A fucking <em>weekly </em></span>
  <em>
    <span>schedule </span>
  </em>
  <span>of toddler classes. Like she’s a retiree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you stopped,” Richie reminds him. “And you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Riley asks. Richie and Eddie separate more fully to look down at her. Her big eyes are concerned and her little face is reddening as her brow furrows. Eddie crouches down to lift her again. “Why’re you sad, I— Why did you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie cuts her off, before she can work herself up. She looks nervously to Richie, so he noisily kisses her forehead. It makes her laugh loudly, shrieking and grabbing at his hair where she can reach it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just miss you when you’re not here,” Richie explains to her. He smooths her hair back and smiles down at her. “That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I always come back,” Riley says, confused. Richie feels the backs of his eyes and his nose starting to burn again before he actively starts crying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Daddy—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Richie apologizes. She feels softly golden and warmly pink, when he feels for her aura. He sighs when he feels it. It shifts, a moment later, when the quiet is shattered by Nora screaming in the other room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got ‘em,” Richie says, and leaves to grab Audrey and Nora to get ready for dinner. He can hear Eddie explaining each of the pamphlets to Riley behind him as he goes, describing what each activity is, and it makes him smile when he slips out of the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>In the end, Riley chooses the art classes. They go to trial classes for swimming, gymnastics, science, and music, but Riley doesn’t seem to really like any of them. When they go to an open house at their local art studio, though, she’s nearly buzzing out of her skin. There are so many different options for her to touch and try that she briefly just freezes before promptly going out of her </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess we found it,” Richie says, watching Riley sitting at their kitchen table as she scribbles a blob of a drawing. She'd explained to Richie that it was a drawing of herself, drawing this <em>exact</em> picture of herself. It’s meta in a way that makes his head hurt, and arguably <em>too</em> meta for a two-year-old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>thought she was going to go for the Scouts,” Eddie admits. He spoons sweet potatoes into Nora’s mouth, but she just turns and spits it on the floor. Eddie sighs, putting his face in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Switch with me,” Richie says. Eddie gladly passes off the baby food jar and takes Audrey instead, accepting the container of blueberries Richie’s been slowly feeding to her for her snack. Audrey’s easygoing enough that she doesn’t really care who feeds her but, right now, Nora’s going through a phase where she’ll really only go with what Richie wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think she’ll be okay there by herself?” Eddie asks. Riley lifts her head to give him an admonishing look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be with kids,” she tells him. “Don’t worry, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, don’t worry,” Richie echoes, grinning. Nora smears sweet potato along his cheek, but when he swipes it off and holds it out to her on his fingers, she licks it off. Eddie wrinkles up his nose at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When do we go?” Riley asks, for the hundredth time in an hour. Richie checks the clock above the stove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two minutes,” he tells her. She starts furiously scribbling to fill in the color for her hair on her self-portrait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re okay going by yourself?” Eddie asks. “Because we can always—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every place we go doesn’t need to be an entire production with all of us,” Richie reminds him. “We’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ll stop at the—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ll stop at the open house on our way back,” Richie says. “I’ve got this. I’m on top of things, big guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so,” Eddie replies, just as the timer on Richie’s phone goes off. Riley screams and scrambles off the counter, abandoning her paper and crayons. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey, </span>
  </em>
  <span>get back here, clean this up before you go—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Daddy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Riley whines. She comes back and clambers up into her chair again to straighten out her things while Richie just watches, struck for a moment that his and Eddie’s parenting has, as of right now, successfully created a child who listens and cleans up after herself. She takes her picture with her when she goes to find her shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure you’re all set?” Eddie asks again. Richie huffs a laugh. “Because if you don’t want to do it, I can do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I gotta do this,” Richie says. “If I get in the rhythm, it’ll just get easier from there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re sure,” Eddie says skeptically. Richie scoops the last of the sweet potatoes up and into Nora’s mouth, catching it with the spoon when she tries to spit it back down her chin again. When she’s done, he leans back, turning to fling the tiny spoon into the sink before he stands, licking a spot of sweet potatoes off the back of his own hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure I’m sure,” Richie says. He kisses Nora’s forehead and takes her back to her bouncer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me if you need anything,” Eddie tells him. Richie rolls his eyes before kissing Audrey’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye-bye, baby girl,” Richie says. He lifts his head to kiss Eddie’s cheek, too, but Eddie just tips his head to turn into the kiss until Richie catches the corner of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it,” Eddie reminds him. “Anything at all. Text me for moral support. Send me pictures of her there—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got it,” Richie assures him. Eddie smiles slightly, then kisses him again before pushing him away with the back of his wrist, nearly spilling the blueberries as he does so. Richie leaves them there to find Riley in the hallway near the front door, trying to tug her sneakers on. “Need a hand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley jumps a little, then frowns, holding up one of her shoes. “I can’t get it on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you can’t tie shoes, short stack,” Richie reminds her. He sits cross-legged next to her and helps her pull her shoes on and tie them before hoisting her to her feet and taking her hand in his to lead her outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She babbles excitedly the entire drive to the art studio. Richie keeps up pretty well, he thinks— Or, hopes, at least, because she kind of reminds him of himself when he was little, and nobody really kept up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he was at home. Luckily, he’d had Eddie and the other Losers for that. Riley even shrieks with excitement when they pull into the parking lot behind the studio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you’re going to be making art with the other kiddos, alright?” Richie says, as he puts their car in park. He turns around in the driver’s seat to reach out and squeeze Riley’s chubby leg. “You’re gonna be a tiny artist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley beams at him, then tightly grabs his fingers where they’re wrapped around her thigh. “I’m only tiny because you’re too big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs and says, “You got me there,” before pulling one of her hands up, kissing the back of it. She tugs at his nose, so he makes a goofy face at her, then withdraws to get out and unbuckle her from her car seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, the art studio is madness. It’s late in the afternoon, and the place is crawling with kids Riley’s age, painting and drawing and sculpting and crafting. Richie squeezes Riley’s hand, then ducks down to scoop her up onto his hip and carry her over to the teacher he remembers from the open house they went to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello again,” the teacher says. “I’m so sorry, I forgot your name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley glances nervously to Richie, her excitement slipping away in the face of her shyness and the unfamiliarity of the virtual stranger in front of her. Richie just transfers her to his left arm and holds out his right to shake her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just fine, because we forgot yours, too,” Richie says, grinning. When the teacher laughs, Riley smiles, just a little bit, before turning her face into Richie’s throat again. “I’m Richie Kaspbrak, this is Riley Kaspbrak, she’s the next Picasso if only because I don’t really understand her art but it’s still fun to look at.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s so exciting,” the teacher says. “Well, I’m Miss Amy, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Riley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley lifts her head, but remains silent. Richie jostles her a little, then says, “Wanna say hi? She’s gonna teach you how to paint real pictures.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long beat, Riley keeps hesitating, still not speaking. Then, though, she quietly says, “Hi, Miss Amy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi there,” she says. “Where do you want to start?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley looks around, her face flushing a bit as she takes in all the different children running around and all the various options she can choose from. After a moment, she points down at the watercolor table. Richie sets her down on her feet, and Miss Amy holds out her hand to her. Riley glances back to Richie, eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” Richie encourages her. He looks over his shoulder and spots a snack table near a bunch of seats with other parents, so he motions towards it. “I’m gonna go make some new friends and eat some cookies while you make something good for the fridge, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Riley agrees. She reaches up for him with the hand Miss Amy isn’t holding, so Richie ducks down and lets her hug him tightly around the neck with one arm. He kisses her cheek, then pulls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got this,” Richie tells her quietly. She nods, her wide eyes a little wet when she looks nervously up to him. He kisses her on the forehead once, then twice, lingering for a moment before he pulls back. “Go make something pretty to show your dad and your sisters, okay? And then we can go see that house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Riley says again. She kisses Richie on the cheek before letting him go, but she does let him go. Richie’s as proud as he is devastated to watch somebody else lead her away. His chest hurts, but he leaves her there to go to the snack table, like he said. There’s a few different sign-up sheets for parent volunteers near the cookies and the brownies, so Richie checks his and Eddie’s shared calendar on his phone before signing them both up for a couple of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not a particularly shy person, nor does the toddler art studio have open hours for very long, so it’s easy for him to mingle with the other parents. It’s actually easier than he thought it would be, because he’d been nervous they’d be too intense— or maybe that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>be too intense, and be one of those parents who never shuts up about their kids and makes people watch endless videos of them on their phones. He makes small talk, and he cracks jokes, and he keeps Riley in the corner of his vision at every second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the studio ends, Riley’s got a little folder with a bunch of different pieces of art safely ensconced inside. She sprints to Richie once she finishes her last drawing, colliding with his legs and trying to climb up into his arms while simultaneously shoving the folder into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One thing at a time, you fucking monkey,” Richie tells her. She scowls at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Riley scolds him. After a second, her face darkens with embarrassment, and she looks up at him, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have said it,” Richie says. “Show me what you made, let me see what you’re going to sell to take care of me when I’m old.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t be old,” Riley argues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, I already </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>old,” Richie tells her. She rolls her eyes before holding her arms directly above her head again, the folder still gripped tight and wrinkled up in one of her small fists as she waits. Richie lifts her right up and over his head, spinning her before settling her on his hip again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley pulls out artwork after artwork, cardstock with little watercolor splotches and sketch paper with pencil drawings of their family on them. She hands over a crayon drawing of two misshapen forms with a heart between them and says, “This one’s for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Richie asks, holding it up with the hand not keeping her secure at his side. “What’ve we got here? I think— This looks like you, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s me,” Riley confirms, pointing at the smaller of the two blobs. She points to the bigger one, connected to the little one, and says, “And that’s you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie feels tears well up in his eyes again, and he huffs a wet laugh before hiding his face in Riley’s hair and kissing the top of her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like it?” she asks nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>it,” Richie assures her quickly. “Riley, baby, I love it, it’s beautiful, thank you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be sad,” Riley says, voice soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sad,” Richie promises. He kisses her on the cheek, then says, “I’m not sad, Riles, I’m happy. I’m happy you’re happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley grins up at him, then drops her head on his shoulder again, digging her face into the worn material of his shirt. He slips the drawing back into the folder for safekeeping as he signs them out and carries Riley back out to the car, her eagle-eyes trained on the folder the </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire </span>
  </em>
  <span>time to make sure nothing happens to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy’s going to love your art, kiddo,” Richie says as he starts the car up and pulls out of the lot. The radio plays Radio Disney quietly, something Richie thinks he might actually recognize, which, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>did he become that which he used to mock so severely? When did he become </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay with that, too?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After the house?” Riley asks, and Richie nearly slams on the breaks before he takes a smooth left turn instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After the house,” Richie confirms. He sends up a thanks to whoever’s listening for the fact that he’s not alone anymore. Life’s so much easier with other people in your life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house is just a place for sale further outside the city, nearer to the suburbs, like Stan and Patty. Eddie’s been poking around for bigger places for them, since they’d rented the apartment they’re in now with the expectation that it would just be the two of them in there, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span>a baby soon-ish. Shockingly enough, the five of them don’t fit super well in that space anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s able to convince Riley to leave her folder of artwork in the car by compromising and letting her walk around on her own inside the house, as long as she doesn’t let go of his hand. It gives Richie a twinge in his back, being hunched over enough to hold her hand, but Eddie’s drilled the importance of independence and fairness with them into him over and over again. He’ll take a pulled muscle if it keeps Riley’s brain from exploding by the time she becomes an adult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie whistles, when they walk in the front door. The place is fancy as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>all gleaming white hardwood floors and severe black stripes painted onto the stark white walls. Riley hesitates in the entryway, then turns to Richie, holding her arms up and immediately caving. He picks her up without a comment, kissing her forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, there!” a woman’s voice calls, and Richie turns to see a woman coming out of a parlor off to the side. There’s a table filled with different fliers and clipboards beside her, and she grabs up one of the fliers as soon as they make eye contact. “Are you interested in looking around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we are,” Richie says. “I’m Richie, this is Riley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Riley, I’m Pamela,” the real estate agent says. She looks to Richie to tell him, “Have a look around, let me know if you have any questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Richie says, taking the flier and business card she hands over. He leaves the parlor as quick as he can, eager to explore someone else’s house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they moved into this place, they’d have to make a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of changes. Richie can practically see Eddie in here changing </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>pulling up floorboards and painting the walls and assembling furniture and screwing in lightbulbs. It’s just that sort of masculine Jesus-was-a-carpenter gay shit that gets Richie’s bell ringing, so he distracts himself by jogging up the stairs to the second floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie says. The place has five bedrooms, three of which are on the second floor; Richie pushes open one of the doors and leans in, peeking around the corner. “This could be your room if we lived here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>could?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Riley asks incredulously. “Which side is mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t live here yet,” Richie reminds her. “And it’d be all yours. Auds and Nora would have their own rooms, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley looks back over the room again with huge eyes, her mouth open slightly in shock. Richie kisses her cheek noisily, laughing when she squeals and grabs at his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>big,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Riley comments. The place </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>big, but so is the entire fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>day, </span>
  </em>
  <span>with— with stupid art classes and open houses and dumb emotions about cute drawings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is really big,” Richie agrees. “It’s really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone dings, and he tugs it out of his pocket to check the alert he set for himself to start driving home. Eddie’s responsible for dinner tonight, so either the house is burned down or takeout will be arriving soon, so they have to get going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready to go, squirt?” Richie asks. Riley shakes her head, but Richie just says, “Oh, yes you are, you little rascal,” and escorts her out anyways, under the conditions that they visit the kitchen and one of the bathrooms first. Riley plays with the water in the sink more than she uses the actual bathroom, but it’s all about the small victories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they get back to their apartment, Riley sprints through the place with the folder clutched in her hands, screaming for Eddie, an endless shrieking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Daddy where are you look what I did—” </span>
  </em>
  <span>before Eddie appears in the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riley jumps at the last second, but Eddie’s ready for her, ducking and catching her, swinging her up and taking the folder from her before its contents can spill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’ve you got in here?” Eddie asks. “Did you have fun at your class?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much fun,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Riley tells him. “I painted and drew and Daddy let me pee in a stranger’s house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That—” Richie starts, then sighs. “That’s a misrepresentation of our day, short stack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it she liked the house?” Eddie asks. Riley starts pulling out her artwork one by one and showing them off to Eddie. “Oh, wow, look at </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>is that— Is this your sister?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup, that’s Nora,” Riley says proudly. She pulls out another and says, “And this is all of us, see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie comes over to lean over Eddie’s shoulder to see the painting she’s pointing out. It’s a mess, because it’s a two-year-old’s smudged painting, but it’s clearly five people, two adults and three children, all holding hands together outside in the grass beneath a shining amorphous sun and fluffy white blobs of clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think this one needs a frame,” Eddie tells her. Riley’s whole face lights up as she looks over her shoulder to Richie; he gives her a thumbs-up and whispers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Told you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And look at this one I drew of me and Daddy,” Riley says, tugging out her art of her and Richie. Eddie takes it, studying it for a moment before smiling down at it. When he looks up to Richie, he’s all fucking smiles and stupid fucking sunshine, and it makes Richie’s eyes prick again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful,” Eddie says. Richie laughs wetly, rubbing at his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s for dinner? I’m starving,” Richie segues unsubtly. Eddie smiles again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chicken and green beans,” Eddie says. After a beat, he adds, “Courtesy of Boston Market—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>so,” Richie cuts him off, and Eddie laughs, kissing his cheek before taking the next drawing from Riley and asking her about it as he turns away to carry her through to the kitchen. Richie shoves his hands in his pockets and follows, grinning the whole way.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo">@nicolelianesolo</a> and/or on Tumblr at <a href="https://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/">andillwriteyouatragedy</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>